


a whirlwind of wasted things

by ineffability99



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: And did I mention angst?, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired By, M/M, Mention of HIV/AIDS, Mostly hurt though, Past Lovers, but nothing graphic, but some comfort, dawn of aquarius, now best friends, yeah there is a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffability99/pseuds/ineffability99
Summary: On one hand, he wanted to stop the echo of Freddie’s voice reverberating through his heart left hollowed by the news. But in the very next instant, he’d scramble for each and every note of his voice, every fragment of his existence to keep them close to himself.Roger couldn’t lose Freddie from his heart before he lost him from this world.Roger faces his own demons while trying to support Freddie after learning his diagnosis.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	a whirlwind of wasted things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nastally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dawn of Aquarius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372263) by [nastally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally). 



> This one shot is a gift to the lovely @nastally, for inspiring me to write fanfics, and for weaving the beautiful tale that is Dawn of Aquarius.
> 
> Thank you, @QuirkySubject for being such an amazing beta, and for all your guidance!
> 
> Title inspired by a line in the poem 'And I Said to My Soul, Be Loud', by Christian Wiman.

Roger placed his glass of whiskey on the table, the loud _thud_ echoing in the empty room. The sound barely registered in his mind though. He leaned back on the sofa, rubbing his forehead.

No, the only sound, the only voice that he could hear was _his_ , even after two days, repeating the same sentence over and over again.

_I've got AIDS._

It was like a chant, going round and round in his head. 

Roger had gone down the conventional route to distract himself, tried to drown his sorrows in the amber of alcohol. On one hand, he wanted to stop the echo of Freddie’s voice reverberating through his heart left hollowed by the news. But in the very next instant, he’d scramble for each and every note of his voice, every fragment of his existence to keep them close to himself. 

Roger couldn’t lose Freddie from his heart before he lost him from this world.

He had barely talked to Debbie in the last two days, but she understood the gravity of the situation, even though she did not have the faintest idea what exactly was wrong. The only flicker of light were his kids, and he could almost, _almost_ forget his pain when he talked to them on the phone.

_I've got AIDS._

The truth was, Roger had long suspected that something was wrong. It was evident not only because of Freddie looking visibly weaker, but from the way he had started carrying himself. 

He hadn’t become a sad philosopher, contemplating the meaning of life. He had just become… sombre. On the surface, he was still the same—humorous with a twinkle in his eye. But sometimes when he'd look at the things around him, he seemed to be trying to absorb each and every particle in the room, trying to etch every second into his memory. His smile would slightly slip, and his face would twist into an expression Roger had never seen on him before.

This change in behaviour may not have been evident to the others, but Roger knew Freddie. Saw him for who he was, knew his soul. 

After all, Freddie had bared it himself.

_I've got AIDS._

Some part of Roger knew what it was all along. He now recalled an instance when he had seen a slight blemish on Freddie's hand some months ago. His mind had given him a jolt, a spark that illuminated some scattered observations, but he stamped on it before it could become a flame. He had shoved that piece of memory into the darkest corner of his brain, and convinced himself that whatever Freddie was going through, it was temporary, that he'd be fine. 

_Maybe he was having relationship troubles_ , Roger thought once when Freddie was looking particularly down. He dismissed that notion the very next day when he saw Freddie with Jim, a deep bond of understanding and love palpable between them. He came up with more explanations, some outrageous, some worthy of consideration. 

But he never allowed that spark he had extinguished to flare up again. 

_I’ve got AIDS._

Roger sighed, and placed his head in his hands. He couldn’t go on like this. He had to collect himself and be there for Freddie. But he could barely hold himself together within the confines of his house, Freddie’s mere voice breaking his heart over and over again. How was he supposed to face him? Freddie had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about his illness ever again. How was Roger supposed to see his face and not think that it could be the last time he was looking at him, for all he knew? 

Roger’s heart began to hammer uncontrollably and threatened to escape from his chest. With the small amount of control he still had over his body, he reached over to the telephone and dialled the number of the one person who could knock some sense into him.

\----

“I knew you would call sooner or later.” Brian indeed sounded rather unsurprised at the late night interruption.

“You’ve finally decided to hang your guitar and switch to mind reading, then?” Roger grimaced at his own pathetic attempt to lighten the dark mood that had engulfed both Brian and him.

“No, not yet. No, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came out of your self-imposed hell hole and realised that hiding in your house behind a glass of whiskey is not going help you… or him.”

Trust Brian to get straight to the point.

Brian continued. “Look Rog, I know it is difficult. It is tough for me, and I probably cannot understand what it is like for you. But he needs us right now. And before you interrupt, I know you understand that. But you need to act on it too. It has already been two days since he told us, and you haven’t contacted him, have you?” Brian took Roger’s silence as the confirmation it was and continued. “And given that is exactly what is happening to so many people suffering from AIDS right now—their loved ones distancing themselves—he’s probably thinking that he has pushed you away with his diagnosis too.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Roger managed to say.

“I know Rog, but you’ve got to think from his perspective. I know he doesn’t want any pity or special treatment. He does not need a reminder of his fate in our expressions and behaviour. But he still needs our support and our love, something he may be scared of asking for right now.”

Roger gripped the phone tightly. The tears that he had managed to hold within himself were on the verge of spilling out.

“I just…I just don’t know how to face him, Brian. I can’t look at him and not think about...about the fact that he may not be here in a month or, or a year or two years. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He...he shouldn’t be dealing with this. I cannot imagine him not being here with us, Brian. I...I cannot imagine him not being here with me-”

He choked on the last word and let out a sob, which was followed by another, and another. He put down the receiver on his lap so that Brian wouldn't have to hear him weep—an effort he knew was futile.

After a couple of minutes, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt and took a few deep breaths to get some semblance of control back. “Sorry for that,” he said, his voice hoarse from all the sobbing.

“No, you needed that,” Brian said softly. “In fact, I think you need to do more of that, get it out of your system.”

“Yeah well, I am not going to grant all your wishes at once.” Roger couldn’t help but agree that he indeed felt marginally better than before.

“So are you going to see him, then?” asked Brian.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll need to get a grip on myself first though. And then, I’ll go see him. Still don’t know what I’ll say. Maybe I’ll come up with a new song and present that to him, distract him from everything that’s going on.”

“Yes, he’ll certainly be distracted once you unleash your lyrical genius on him,” Brian chuckled.

“Yeah, fuck off, Brian,” said Roger, smiling a little for the first time in days.

“And politeness will never be his virtue. Anyway, now that you have at least something sorted out, you should try to get some sleep. You’ve got the humongous task of writing a song after all. Goodnight.”

“Yeah goodnight, arsehole.” 

Before his friend could hang up, Roger added, “And Brian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

\----

Roger didn’t write a song after all. Despite his talk with Brian and his slight meltdown the previous night, he was still not in the right mindset to pen down anything that wasn’t gloomy or related to Freddie. Thus, he decided after breakfast to visit him that very day. No more stalling—he had already wasted seconds, hours, _days_ that seemed all the more precious now. He still had no idea what he was going to say to him. But Freddie and Roger never needed to plan out a conversation. They could go on and on about the silliest of things for hours. 

_This was normal_ , Roger reminded himself. _Just like the old times._

Except it wasn’t. Before today, he never had to ring up Garden Lodge to ask whether Freddie would be free to see him. 

It’s not as if Freddie, or anyone else at Garden Lodge had asked him to ring up the house. But Roger didn’t know what Freddie’s schedule looked like anymore when he wasn’t in the studio. He didn’t know about the treatments he was having, the frequency of his doctor’s appointments, his resting periods. He didn’t know what his friend’s life looked like when he wasn’t with him. 

And it hurt. It hurt because it brought the feelings of the last few days back to the surface. Roger didn’t want to think about it today, not when he was going to meet Freddie. His friend had asked them for one thing, _only_ one thing. And Roger was determined to keep his word. But he was already failing.

He arrived at Garden Lodge after lunch. The house seemed peaceful, and quiet, with the occasional chirp of the birds and purring of the cats. 

He met Jim at the foot of the stairs, a warm smile etched on the face of the other man.

“He’s waiting for you upstairs,” said Jim.

But Roger didn’t move. At that moment, Roger realised for the first time that he wasn’t the only person in Freddie’s life who had been affected by his illness. He had friends, incredibly close ones, some even living with him. They were seeing the effects of the disease ravaging his body every day, but they made sure that he felt safe and loved. 

And now looking at Jim, he felt a pang of shame. Grappling with his own misery, he had completely neglected to consider the feelings of the man Freddie called his husband, who loved him very much. If Roger was going through what he called hell, he couldn’t even begin to gauge the enormity of pain Jim was suffering. But his eyes never gave his struggles away. They were full of love and warmth—exactly what Freddie needed.

Roger had been standing there, lost in thought for a long moment. “Roger, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?” Jim asked.

Roger shook his head. “Uh, no, thanks mate. I am fine. I’ll, uh, just go upstairs.”

Jim nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. As Roger was about to climb the first step, Jim placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming, Roger. It really means a lot to him.”

Roger felt a lump in his throat. He nodded at Jim, unable to get a single word out.

He slowly ascended the stairs, taking deep breaths to hold back the flood of tears. _Get a grip on yourself, for fuck’s sake_ , he kept repeating in his head.

Before he knew it, Roger was standing in front of Freddie’s bedroom door. He had, by some miracle, managed to regain some control over his body. He took a few final deep breaths and knocked.

Roger heard a soft “come in” after a moment. He slowly opened the door and entered, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Without looking inside the bedroom, he turned around and closed the door. The _thud_ sounded loud in the quiet room which would normally be occupied by at least one of the feline members of the house. But they weren’t there today.

Roger finally turned towards the bedroom and saw him.

Freddie was looking out of the windows, the evening sun painting his features with an orange hue. He looked pensive, staring out of the glass, but Roger could tell even from a distance that he wasn’t looking at anything. His teeth were poking out between his lips, something he either didn’t notice, or didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He wore a simple grey and yellow tracksuit, and his hair seemed to have been combed recently.

Roger took this moment of silence to look around the room. The bed was immaculately made, papers neatly stacked and photographs perfectly arranged on the tables.

An addition to the room was the presence of a few medicine boxes which were kept on the bedside table. Roger pretended not to notice them.

On the whole, the room looked clean. Too clean.

Roger tore his eyes away from his perusal of the room and looked at Freddie who had not moved an inch. Roger took this as a sign for him to make the first move, and he started walking towards Freddie.

Before he had covered even half of the distance, Freddie suddenly spoke up. And what he said stopped Roger in his tracks.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Out of all the scenarios which Roger had imagined in his head, this wasn’t one of them. He knew what Freddie was talking about, which fault he was referring to. He hadn’t expected Freddie to even bring it up, let alone start their conversation with it. Roger’s mind went utterly blank, but his heart… his heart began to ache.

Roger realised that he hadn’t replied to Freddie, who finally turned towards him, looking him in the eye and repeated, mustering as much conviction as possible in his voice —

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Roger took in the man standing before him, and what he saw turned his already shattered heart into dust. Freddie’s face was devoid of his usual façade of confidence, and in its place was the face of a man who was barely holding himself together. He was taking shallow breaths, palms balled into fists by his side, mouth slightly quivering and eyes… his eyes were brimming with tears and raw pain. 

At that moment, Roger was transported back to twenty years ago, and he was looking at Freddie… _his Freddie_ —young and vulnerable, who didn’t hide behind a mask, at least not in front of Roger. His Freddie, whose every inch he had traced with his fingers, and his lips. His Freddie who had given him the most joy, but also the most heartbreak. His Freddie, the man he had loved with every fibre of his being, and had hurt the most in this world.

Roger was finding it impossible to ease the rope of pain that was constricting his chest.

He took a step forward. “Freddie I-”

Freddie held up a shaking hand to stop him.

“It wasn’t my fault, Roger." 

He seemed desperate, as if trying to convince himself as much as Roger. 

"It wasn’t my fault-”

Freddie's voice broke on the last word, and his body was racked with sobs—shoulders shaking and head bowed.

Roger could stay still no more. Taking a few long steps, he stood in front of Freddie, and wrapped his arms around his best friend.

He threaded the fingers of his right hand through Freddie’s hair while his left was tightly wound around his shoulders. “Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you…” 

Freddie, after showing reluctance for a moment, returned Roger’s embrace, clutching fistfuls of his shirt in both his hands, as his tears continued to flow. Roger rocked them both, and caressed Freddie’s back to comfort him.

Once he felt Freddie’s sobs recede to quiet whimpers, Roger guided both of them towards the bed. They sat down, with Freddie’s head resting on Roger’s shoulder. Roger wrapped his arm around the older man, pulling him close.

Roger pressed a kiss to Freddie’s head, trying his best to keep his own tears from falling.

After a few moments, Freddie sat back and wiped his eyes. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

“I am sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that.”

_So the mask was trying to slip back in its place_ , Roger thought. But he wasn’t going to let it, not yet. He clasped Freddie’s hand in his own, drawing calming circles on the back.

“It’s all right. You don’t need to be strong all the time, especially not in front of me.”

When Freddie didn’t say anything, Roger continued. “Besides, crying helps sometimes. It’s cathartic for the soul.”

“Why do you sound like Brian?” Freddie gave a slight chuckle.

Roger felt more relief at that sound than he had in the last few days. “Well, he has a habit of infiltrating one’s mind without being present. Although, you’ve got to admit, he sometimes gives pretty good advice.”

“Shame that he doesn’t use it on himself,” Freddie smiled and Roger felt a significant weight lift off his chest.

“Yeah…”

They continued to look at each other, hands still clasped. Then Freddie averted his gaze and bit his bottom lip. Roger knew that he wanted to say something. He didn’t push him though, and waited for Freddie to open up himself.

Freddie did, after a few moments of silence.

“Do you…” he hesitated to say the rest. “Do you believe that it was my fault?” Freddie finally asked in a small voice.

Roger felt the sting of tears again, but he was determined not to lose control in front of Freddie. “No, it wasn’t,” he whispered.

Freddie looked at him, his eyes red, undoubtedly noticing that Roger’s were in a similar state. 

“Come here.” Roger beckoned to Freddie, and they resumed their earlier position, with Freddie’s head nestled on Roger’s shoulder. Their hands were still joined.

They sat in silence, before Freddie spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I am so scared, Roger.”

Roger nodded, and a few stray tears escaped. “I know, I am so sorry.” He pressed his lips to Freddie’s hair, trying to comfort himself as much as the other man. “But you aren’t alone. No matter what happens, we will be here with you. I…” Roger willed himself to continue. “I will be here with you.”

“Do you promise?”

Roger closed his eyes as a lump wedged itself in his throat. There was so much that he wanted to promise Freddie, so much that he wanted to give. Another tour. Drunken nights. Elaborate parties. Perfect health. The world. 

_Time._

But for now, Roger settled for his support, friendship... and love.

“I promise,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that you liked this angsty fic. Kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [ineffableidiots99](http://ineffableidiots99.tumblr.com/) and [just-a-poor-boy-queen](http://just-a-poor-boy-queen.tumblr.com/) !


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